


The Soul has Bandaged Moments

by sugarboms898



Series: Never to Come Out [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Light Angst, Other, References to Canon, Strained Relationships, Trying to move on, uncomfortable reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboms898/pseuds/sugarboms898
Summary: There’s a tightness to his eyes that’s come with old age–and his hair is graying at the temples–but he looks just the same as he did when she met him. He’s speaking with Nina, his head turned towards her, so he doesn’t notice Ana at first. But when he turns–Ana can feel him pinning her feet to the floor, his smile slipping from his face.“Ana?”A beat.“Hello, Sam.”





	The Soul has Bandaged Moments

“This is your captain speaking, we will be reaching our destination in ten minutes. Please return to your seats, and prepare for landing.”

Ana glances from the window towards the front of the cockpit, a small smirk on her face. Jax looks like a surly, intense figure from a distance, but one only has to spend a minute with them to see their humorous side. Readjusting her position, Ana grips the arms of her seat as Jax begins the descent. She has never enjoyed the feeling of flying in floatplanes–the landing is the worst. For a moment she misses the ORCA, its smooth maneuvering and effortless hovering as the bay doors open out as ramps. Jax tilts the plane towards the water, the pontoons bobbing as they breach the bay.

“Your landing could still use some work,” Ana calls, grip straining on the handles.

Jax scoffs, readjusting their baseball cap.

“What do you know? You’ve never flown a plane like this before.”

Letting out a huff of laughter, Ana concedes Jax’s point quietly. In all the years she’s come out here, she’s never considered any other method. It didn’t seem right, not when– Shaking her head, Ana waits for Jax to cut the engine. They turn to look at her for a moment, an uncharacteristic frown on their face.

“Haven’t seen you out this way for a while, huh?”

Ana looks away, her mouth drawn thin.

“…No.”

Jax hums, eyeing her closely. After a moment they turn back around, swiping a hand under their hat.

“…Take as long as you need–I can be in town for the next three days or so before I need to leave for a job.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll only be here a few hours, at most.”

“If you say so,” Jax replies, unbuckling before exiting the plane.

Ana glances around the cramped space, hands fumbling with the belt clasp. Hunching over, she shuffles to her bag, wrapping the handle tight around her wrist. Jax is waiting for her on the outside, one wader wet up to the calf. They grab her arm, gently helping her off the plane and onto the dock.

“Thank you, Jax…I wasn’t sure you would answer my call after so long.”

Waving their hand, Jax shakes their head.

“Eh, a friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine.”

Ana tenses at the mention of Sam, her shoulders hunching forward slightly. After a moment she straightens out, lifting her head to look them straight on.

“Yes. Thank you. I will come find you when I’m ready to leave.”

Jax nods, rubbing a hand across their stomach.

“Alright. Most likely be at the pub, you know the one? With the bear’s head?”

At Ana’s nod, Jax wanders off, raising a hand in goodbye. Shaking her head slowly, Ana shoulders her bag and sets off inland. Sandspit is the same as she remembers, quiet and picturesque. Pulling her hood tighter, Ana tries to ignore the suspicious stares as she makes her way towards the residential streets.

The house is as she remembers it, single-story and surrounded by farmland, sheep grazing in the fields. There are blankets hanging on the clothing line, the patterns standing out against the pale green of dry grass. The wind chime hanging on the corner moves lazily, the echo of its note too far to hear. The car parked in front is new, but otherwise everything else is as it was thirty years ago.

Blinking a couple of times, Ana takes a step forward; she pauses in front of the door, staring down at the scuffed welcome mat. What will he say? It’s been seven years–no letters, no phone calls. Ana clenches her fist in her pants, letting go after a moment. It doesn’t matter what he’ll do, she decides, as long as he knows. Pursing her lips, she knocks on the door.

A few seconds pass in silence; then, from farther in the house, come the sound of footsteps. They’re softer than his, confusing the sniper. They stop in front of the door, their owner no doubt looking at her through the peephole. Ana shifts uncomfortably, readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. The person behind the door must decide she’s worthy of talking to; a moment later the door cracks open, a young face peering at her.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Ana doesn’t mean to stare. She just looks so much like–

“I’m sorry, I must have wrong house,” she says.

It’s not the wrong house–it may have been a few decades, but she still remembers waking in the master bedroom, peering out at the coastline and staring into the woods. The young girl opens the door a little wider, eyes darting farther into the house.

“Were you looking for someone?”

Ana nods after a moment, blinking rapidly.

“Ah. Yes. His name is Sam–”

The girl perks up, nodding.

“Oh, you mean my dad. He’s not home right now.”

The fabric of her bag handle strains under her grip.

“…I see. What is your name, dear?”

“Nina.”

Ana gives her a small smile.

“What a lovely name. My name is Ana.”

The girl nods, more comfortable speaking to the older woman.

“Dad usually gets home really late, so...”

Ana tilts her head, considering.

“Of course. I’ll take my leave, then. If you don’t mind me asking…how old are you?”

Nina bounces from one foot to the other.

“I’m sixteen.”

Ana nods after a moment, at a loss for words. She slowly turns around, nodding to the teenager as she shuts the door. Ana makes it to the end of the street before she hears her name being called. It’s enough to turn her around, watching curiously as Nina comes jogging up to her, wiping an arm across her forehead.

“I lied, sorry. Dad’s actually home. He said if it wasn’t someone from work it was fine?”

“Would I be interrupting something?”

Nina shakes her head, a small smile on her face.

“No, no. Dad’s office just calls him a lot on his days off, so he likes to pretend he isn’t home.”

Ana smiles gently, nodding after a moment.

“Well, I only want a word with your…father.”

Nina nods, turning back towards her home. She starts talking about her father’s penchant for long naps, seguing into her own nocturnal activities. Ana zones her out, though not on purpose. Her thoughts race through her head, firing in and out. Soon enough they reach the front door, Nina holding it open for Ana. She steps over the threshold, memories flooding her senses.

The inside is the same, yet different; Ana can see aspects of Nina’s presence–shoes piled near the door, a stack of textbooks on the hall table; a softball bat laying haphazardly on the floor. Pulling her hood down, Ana sets her bag down by the books, watching silently as Nina wanders off. The sniper can distantly hear her talking to her father, the two soon stepping into the hallway.

It’s the first time she’s seen him in ten years. Sam looks the same, the past decade hardly aging him. There’s a tightness to his eyes that’s come with old age–and his hair is graying at the temples–but he looks just the same as he did when she met him. He’s speaking with Nina, his head turned towards her, so he doesn’t notice Ana at first. But when he turns–Ana can feel him pinning her feet to the floor, his smile slipping from his face.

“Ana?”

A beat.

“Hello, Sam.”

Nina watches the two of the silently, her expression curious. Sam shakes his head, turning to look at Nina.

“Honey…why don’t you go to your room? Ana and I…we need to…”

“We have some catching up to do,” Ana says kindly, nodding to the girl.

She nods slowly, walking back down the hallway. She glances at the two of them from her shoulder before entering her room quietly. Sam watches Ana, his expression carefully blank; Ana swallows nervously, tipping her head.

“Perhaps we should sit down.”

Sam nods, walking into the kitchen. Ana follows a bit slower, eye roving over the new knick-knacks and touches to the house. Sam fiddles with the oven, fumbling with a kettle. Ana reaches out to help but thinks better of it; she puts her hand down, settling in a dining chair instead. The two remain silent, Sam’s hands trembling as he goes about making tea. She doesn’t mean to pry, but Ana notices the wedding ring on Sam’s finger anyway. She feels a small wisp of bitterness in her core, shooing it away as Sam sets a mug down in front of her.

“Sam–”

“Seven years,” he says quietly, staring resolutely into his mug, “I thought you were dead for _seven years_.”

Ana sighs, deflating; she closes her eye, her body weary.

“Yes.”

“We buried you.”

“I know.”

“Fareeha was devastated– _I_ was devastated.”

Her hand tightens on the mug.

“I know.”

“How would _you_ know? _You_ were dead.”

His voice never rises, but it cuts her deeply. Taking a deep breath, Ana opens her eye to look at Sam. He is glaring down at his mug, his knuckles white as he clasps his hands together. His eyes are shiny and wet, but he doesn’t cry. In all the years she’s known him, he’s never cried in front of her.

“There were people who wanted me dead, Sam. I couldn’t–I would _not_ put you or Fareeha in danger. So I gave them what they wanted.”

Sam shakes his head, glaring up at her.

“She was devastated.”

Ana sips her tea; it goes down acidic and unpleasant.

“I’m well aware of how my daughter–”

“ _Our_ daughter,” Sam interjects angrily.

“Of course. Our daughter. I’m well aware of how our daughter felt.”

Sam sighs in frustration, grabbing his mug and chugging the burning liquid. Ana holds in a wince; Sam does not react to the hot temperature, slamming the mug down after a minute.

“Do you have any idea what it was like?”

“Yes.”

Sam snorts resentfully.

“I doubt it.”

“I lost people, Sam,” Ana says firmly, her mouth pulling down at the corners, “I did not want to lose the two of you as well.”

Shaking his head, Sam leans back in his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face. Ana sips at her tea, reaching for the sugar.

“You’ve spoken with Fareeha.”

Ana pauses.

“…Yes. I sent her a letter.”

Sam’s eyes snap open.

“ _What_.”

Ana winces. The tea tastes worse with sugar.

“I sent her a letter, a few years ago.”

“You told Fareeha through a _letter_?” he asks, his voice rising with indignation.

Ana nods, crossing her arms.

“Only after a few years had passed, yes.”

“And you couldn’t tell me then as well? Ana, what were you thinking?”

Holding a hand to her face, Ana sighs. She doesn’t want to fight. She looks at Sam closely, his body taut with thinly veiled anger.

“Look at the life you’ve lived, Sam. You have two beautiful daughters, a wife, a good job–you did not need me.”

Sam slumps back in his chair.

“I wanted you to be happy. We were…we were never right, together. We wanted very different things. The only thing we ever agreed on was Fareeha. I wanted you to live your life, Sam, and live it happily. I knew…I knew if I came back you wouldn’t be able to.”

He stares at her for a moment, a slow and disbelieving laugh making its way out of his mouth.

“Are you serious? You thought pretending to be dead would be better?”

Ana glares at him, hands flexing.

“I know you, Sam. I knew you wanted the kind of stability I can’t–couldn’t give you.”

His throat working, Sam stares up at the ceiling.

“…Nina is beautiful,” Ana says quietly, pushing away from the table, “I only hope…I only hope this has not changed your relationship with Fareeha.”

“Of course it hasn’t,” Sam says quietly, “she’s our daughter–my daughter. I love her.”

Ana sits back down, closing her eye slowly.

“She and Nina…”

“Half-sisters, if that’s what you’re asking. Nina adores her, and Fareeha…she’s a little awkward, but she tries. They call each other sometimes.”

Nodding, Ana runs a finger along the rim of her mug, watching the reflection of the ceiling fan. Sam finishes the remainder of his mug, getting up slowly to refill it. He pauses by Ana’s side, looking at her for a moment.

“Your eye…?”

Ana nods, reaching up to touch her eye patch.

Sam swallows, glancing away.

“I’m sorry to have appeared out of the blue,” she says quietly, “and for not telling you sooner. I thought…I thought it would protect you both, but. It seems all I’ve done is cause the two of you more pain.”

Sam remains silent, slowly refilling his mug. Ana takes a final sip before standing, smoothing her jacket slightly.

“Well. I best be going, then.”

Sam pauses, still facing the counter. He turns to glance at her, face weary.

“Have you spoken to Fareeha since?”

Shaking her head, Ana gives him a wan smile.

“Once. I contacted her in Cairo and she…well, the less said the better.”

Sam looks at her closely, eyes roving over her figure. Ana feels flayed open, raw in a way she hasn’t felt since fighting with Fareeha. It’s a feeling she doesn’t allow herself often–she can’t afford to feel so vulnerable in her profession.

“I can’t forgive you.”

“I know.”

“And Fareeha…I don’t know that she can, either.”

Ana gives him a weak smile, walking towards the door. She turns to look around the house, her smile dropping a little the longer she stares.

“I’m happy for you, Sam. Your daughter is beautiful. She looks just like you.”

“And Fareeha.”

“Yes,” she says, blinking a little faster, “yes, like Fareeha. Take care of them, Sam. They need you.”

“Fareeha needs you. Even if she can’t forgive you, she needs her mother.”

Ana shakes her head, hand resting on her coat pocket. Her portable holovid feels heavy and leaden, a constant reminder of her failures.

“No, Fareeha hasn’t needed me for a long time. There were so many things we did not agree on…so many fights I wish I could take back. She’s done well without me, just like you.”

Shaking his head, Sam grabs her bag, rubbing a thumb over the embroidered Overwatch symbol.

“There’s rumors in my office that Overwatch has been recalled,” Sam muses, staring down at the sigil, “I think it safe to assume she’ll join now that you aren't a part of it.”

Ana sags a little, grabbing the bag from him. Slinging it over her shoulder, Ana pulls her hood back up, tucking her braid in around her neck. Sam crosses his arms as he watches her, eyebrows pinched together. He stands there even as she leaves, closing the door gently behind her. Making her way down the driveway and onto the side of the road, Ana ignores the dampness in her eye.

It takes her longer to get back into town than it had been thirty years ago, but she eventually makes her way to the Bear’s Head, pushing the door open. A plume of steamy air billows out, making her skin damp and sticky. She makes a beeline for the bar, tapping a hunched figure on the shoulder. Jax turns to face her, a half eaten sandwich in hand.

“I’m ready to go now,” Ana says, keeping her eye locked onto Jax’s face.

They nod, pulling their wallet from their pocket and slapping some money on the counter. The two of them maneuver out of the pub, walking back towards Sandspit Airport in silence; Jax looks over at Ana, watching her face closely.

“I take it it went badly,” they say, shoving their hands in their pockets.

Humming, Ana rubs a finger along the edge of her holovid, thinking.

“Well, ‘least you did it,” Jax continues, jogging forward to set up the plane.

“Yes,” Ana says quietly, looking up at the clouding sky, “I suppose that is something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from an Emily Dickinson poem of the same name.
> 
> The inspiration for this fic comes from the new prematch interaction between Ana and Pharah where they talk about Fareeha's father, Sam. I wanted to explore his reaction to finding out Ana is alive, as well as explore the type of relationship they had and how he's changed/grown since their intimacy.
> 
> I also decided to have Sam be a member of the Haida people based on Pharah's 'Thunderbird' skin; the thunderbird is a popular mythological figure across a bunch of north western Pacific nations, including the Haida. It also works out in reference to the "Reflections" comic where Pharah is shown eating with her dad–there's a television screen in the background that has a small Canadian flag in the corner.
> 
> If you enjoyed this piece, please leave a comment!
> 
> [Commission info: TBD]


End file.
